To him
the thing seemed easy, and he was as anxious to get into the fight
himself as was the terrier that strained at his chain. But Crothers,
who had won a hundred fights at least in cleaner climes, fought
canny and tried to make the black man tire himself with wasted effort.
And the Arabs sat in silence, like a row of vultures waiting for the
end. Even the little children held their clamor and subsided into
motionless calm. There was not a movement along the roofs or the
wall, or in the rings of those who squatted. Arabia was spellbound,
watching something she had never seen before and trying to puzzle
out the wherefore of it. There were knives and guns available, yet
these men fought without weapons. The white contender had a friend,
but the friend did not join in. Why? Had Allah struck all three
men mad? They sat still to see the end, having no doubt but that
it would prove to be a judgment.
Curley Crothers was the first to close a round. He put an end to
round one at the end of three minutes by missing with a heavy right
swing, ducking to avoid terrific punishment, slipping in the yielding
sand and falling.
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